


garden growing from a black hole in my mind

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: my ranty venting bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>two seconds; two minutes; two hours; two days; two weeks; two months; two years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	garden growing from a black hole in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in tyler's pov but it works either way

it’s been _two seconds_ since he left.

your heart is racing out of anger, your throat is sore from screaming, and your eyes sting with tears.

the echo of the door slamming behind him rings in the air, unforgiving. it’s the only true semblance that he was ever even there just two seconds before, other than the smell of his aftershave lingering in your nostrils.

you collapse to the ground and you sob, begging for forgiveness. but from who? him, or yourself?

 

it’s been _two minutes_ since he left.

you pick up the broken shards of the mirror he shattered with his bare fist (it’s the only time he’s been angry enough to lash out and hit something, and it’s all your fault) and you throw them away.

you hold onto the last one, looking at your hollow-eyed reflection. your skin is pale and your eyes are puffy and red-rimmed and you hate yourself so, _so_ much.

so you slice your wrist open the wrong way, because you don’t deserve to die. you deserve to suffer. you let yourself bleed on the kitchen floor until you pass out.

 

it’s been _two hours_ since he left.

you wake up with a raging headache that only reminds you of what you’ve done wrong, and he hasn’t come home. part of you wants him back in your arms, and part of you never wants to see his fucking face again.

the bleeding from your cuts has stopped. you clean them in the kitchen sink and bandage them in the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror; you hate yourself, and you hate him, and you hate the scars that you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life.

you lay in bed that night and you try to cry away the pain, but no tears come, and it makes you feel even worse than if you were crying.

 

it's been _two days_ since he left.

you come home from work exhausted and terrified at the prospect of another night spent alone, and on the kitchen table is a note and the extra key. his key.

you don't read the note. you crumple it up out of anger and you throw it at the wall and you scream your frustration out at the top of your lungs and you cry. how could he do this to you? how could he leave you? how could you let him? you're such a fucking failure, look at what you've done, you've ruined _everything_!

you need him to live, you need him to breathe, you need him to keep you going. he was the only thing holding the frayed bits and pieces of your sanity together. you collapse to your knees and you lay on the floor and you sob yourself dry until you fall asleep.

 

it's been _two weeks_ since he left.

you are still alive, but every day is still hell. you miss him like you've never missed anything else before; you miss his smile, his laugh, the way he held you when you were asleep and the way he kissed you, even the way he fucked you.

but you are still alive. even when you thought you couldn't live without him, even when you thought he was the only thing holding you together, you are still alive without him by your side. you are breathing and living and slowly, the fog has lifted from your mind's eye; you see a little clearer, breathe a little easier. you are still alive.

 

it's been _two months_ since he left.

you didn't think you'd live to see two months without him. you were so dependent on him when you were together, so dependent that it got to the point where you'd convinced yourself _he_ was the only reason you were still living, breathing; but he wasn't ever that, you were. you were all of it. you were everything that held you together, everything that kept you going on when you thought you would collapse at any second just because he wasn't there anymore.

you lived to see two months without him, and you'll live to see many, many more.

 

it's been _two years_ since he left.

today marks two years since he left. it's a date you thought you wouldn't ever reach once, let alone twice; somewhere along the line, when all of it had begun happening, you were convinced you wouldn't survive two weeks without him.

but you did. you survived two seconds, two days, two weeks, two months, two _years_ of him being gone; you haven't heard anything from him and he hasn't heard anything from you, but you hope that he's doing okay, wherever he ended up.

sometimes, you think about what it would have been like if he'd never left; if you'd have gotten married, started a family by now, tried living out that happily ever after fairy tale life everyone was so fond of dreaming of. it never works out, in your daydreams, just like it never would've worked out in your reality.

and that's okay. life goes on, with or without him.


End file.
